Biaiothanatoi
by The Readers Muse
Summary: "I thought it was all a load of bunk," Brad opened, nearly ten minutes after he slid onto the bar-stool beside him.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own "The Conjuring." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** Part two of my "(Human) connections" series featuring Brad and Drew, follows "Agamoi" but could also be read independent of that fic. – I wanted to examine the events that happened post movie. So, that night or the night after for sake of setting.

 **Disclaimer:** supernatural elements, ghosts, hauntings, canon appropriate violence, adult language, pre-slash, drama, angst, post movie.

 **Biaiothanatoi**

"I thought it was all a load of bunk," Brad opened, nearly ten minutes after he slid onto the bar-stool beside him. Instantly regretting ordering whatever it was the man was drinking from the bartender smoking menthols out the line-kitchen window at the far edge of the bar.

"Most people do," he answered easily. Nose wrinkling as he gave the honey-dark bourbon a dubious sniff. Part of him registering the way the man's voice was rock steady. Posture slouched and easy-perfect like it was any other Friday night, relaxing after a shift at the station. It was the subtle little tremble in the hand holding the glass that gave him away. "Why'd you take the job anyway?"

"Needed the money," Brad grunted, taking a long pull from his glass as he continued staring straight ahead into nothing. Condensation beading between his fingers as he turned the glass idly around and around the coaster. "Besides, I owed Ed a favor."

There were about seven different questions he had about that.

Namely, who ends up owing Ed Warren a favor that doesn't involve coming face to face with the supernatural?

"Why me?" Brad rasped, voice rough. Whether with emotion or the harshness of the liquor, it was hard to tell.

The clock on the wall ticked dependably beside an obnoxiously flickering Pepsi sign.

 _8:56pm._

 _8:57pm._

 _8:58pm._

 _8:59pm._

 _9:00pm._

"Why anyone, man?" he replied with a shrug, taking a micro-sip from his glass and trying not to be a pussy about it. "A better question is why them? I mean, think about it. You know better than anyone that people die everyday, a lot of times terribly. But you don't see ghosts hanging around everywhere. This time it was easy, there was a demon involved. Usually they just have something they want, something they didn't do or say. There's always a reason they're sticking around. Most times we just have to figure out what that is, then get some Priest to send them on their way."

"It was like...she _wanted_ someone to see it. What that thing did to her? It felt like she wanted me to know it wasn't her fault," Brad said softly. Letting the moment rest for a half beat before he abruptly shook his head and slammed back the rest of his drink before motioning over to his full glass with an slurry half-smirk. "You gonna finish that?"

He pushed it over with almost embarrassing eagerness as Brad's eyebrow ticked up a notch. Frowning when the muscle in his wounded cheek tried to twitch with the rest of the expression but failed somewhere along the way. Not even bothering to wipe the rim of the glass as he hooked it over and took a healthy swing. Knocking it back like he didn't even have taste buds anymore.

"Hey Tim, get the guy a beer, eh?"

Now _that_ was more like it.

"Who knows, dude. She might have singled you out just because you were up and moving and she was feelin' the itch. Or maybe because she knew what you were. There would have been cops involved when she kicked the bucket. At least at the start. She might blame the uniform for not uncovering the truth in the first place. Or maybe you're right, maybe she just wanted to share what really happened. Maybe to someone she figured might be able to do something about it," he said with a shrug.

"You mean like changing the records? From a suicide to a murder?" Brad asked, looking thoughtful.

"Sure, that and maybe getting a priest in to make sure her soul ends up in the right place," he added, combing his fingers through his hair as he stretched. Trying to work the kinks out of his sore shoulders. "She might've been afraid to move on considering it was reported as a suicide. She was Catholic, after all. They don't so services for that kind of stuff. It's still considered a mortal sin, you know."

"Christ," Brad sighed. Leaving him inclined to agree on so many levels before he hesitated.

"It's rare, actually," he admitted, wondering if he'd finally managed to put his foot in his mouth as a small little voice in the back of his mind urged him to be careful.

"What is?"

"For a ghost to come to you directly," he explained, tracing the halfway mark where the amber liquid in his glass was barely kissing the fading line of foam. "Unless you're one of the people it's latched onto. I mean, she wasn't even housebound. She was probably wandering the land since she worked in one of the houses that used to be part of the original property. Bet she wasn't even in the house most of the time, but still- _she chose you._ Hell, she only ever appeared fully to you. That means something."

Brad was looking at him properly now. Full on. No holds barred. Maybe for the first time since he'd sat down. Expression threatening to be hard, but ruined by an openly vulnerable look that made his chest ache. It wasn't pity. But maybe something close to-

"I've only seen that kind of thing happen to Lorraine," he continued, something in Brad's face encouraging it even though he knew he should probably just keep his mouth shut. "Usually even the weird ones avoid skeptics. I mean, think of them as people stuck on low battery. You don't waste juice on someone who's going to be hard to get through to, right? That's why they go after kids. It doesn't take much convincing."

Brad nodded slowly before frowning again.

"Well, you said it yourself, didn't you? Maybe she figured I was responsible for how everything played out. Maybe she figured I could do something, _should do something_ ," the man argued. Bar stool creaking, geriatric and mildly threatening, as he leaned forward. Swirling the thin slivers of ice in his glass with a frustrated rattle.

"Yeah," he muttered, sipping at his beer. Grateful when the unconvinced lilt went completely over the man's head. Keeping his eyes on the hand ticking down the seconds on the clock. Wondering off-hand if the Perron's were doing the same thing at home, waiting to see if it really was over.

 _You didn't have to be Lorraine Warren to have the knack for the supernatural, after all._

"I'm gonna take some flowers up to her headstone tomorrow, if I can find it. Say a few words or something," Brad told him after an awkward pause. Clearing his throat in a way that gave him flashbacks to earlier when he'd been taking the mickey out of him for how wide the man's eyes had gone when the basement door slammed closed on its own accord.

"That's very nice," he said politely. "I'll come with you."

Because it _was_ nice.

And who knows, maybe it would help with _both_ their nightmares.

Brad just grunted and ordered him another beer without asking.

He didn't do anything to stop him, either.

Sometimes you just had to drink.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think.

 **Reference:**

\- Biaiothanatoi: "those dead by violence." This is considered a type of 'restless dead'. Specifically the battle-dead and executed criminals, although murder victims and suicides provide the bitterest ghosts in this class.


End file.
